Girl got lyrics.
"You're intimidating as all hell, but I ain't scared of you.."
24 January 2011
07 January 2011
READS 2010.
While we're on the subject of recaps, I thought I'd throw back to all the volumes I've vanquished in the past 12 months. Here's looking at you, kids.
On my To-Read list:
Ulysses by James Joyce (I began this tome about a month ago, but abandoned it. I'll try again soon.)
Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy
Paul Newman: A Life by Shawn Levy
Winter's Bone by Daniel Woodrell
She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb
On my To-Read list:
Ulysses by James Joyce (I began this tome about a month ago, but abandoned it. I'll try again soon.)
Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy
Paul Newman: A Life by Shawn Levy
Winter's Bone by Daniel Woodrell
She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb
06 January 2011
TEN.
Now that the year has come to a close,
I think a little recap may be in order.
JANUARY
Heather and I went on the road trip of our lives.
(see the whole adventure here.)
Who knew CA to NM could be so treacherous?
FEBRUARY
Homemade Valentines for everyone.
Even artichokes have hearts!
MARCH
Madness.
Visit from Uncle Marty and some long-lost cousins.
APRIL
Encore ABQ visit.
Teaching the girls to raise the roof and say "partytime!"
MAY
My first visit to The White Buffalo Resort.
Hopefully not my last. Cornhole, anyone?
JUNE
Returning to ABQ once more for combination family
reunion and James' welcome home bash!
JULY
Beachtime.
Leah visits, we turn 23 and gorge ourselves on seafood.
AUGUST
Yosemite EXPRESS.
Justin and I escape for a mere two days of camping bliss.
SEPTEMBER
Falling in love with Paris.
Je t'aime.
OCTOBER
Nuit Blanche.
Getting used to this whole French thing.
NOVEMBER
French-American Thanksgiving.
Eating like an American just feels so right.
DECEMBER
Au Revoir les enfants!
A close to the fastest months of my life.
BONUS DECEMEBER
HAPPY NEW YEAR, 2011!
Final verdict: I think I liked 2010.
21 November 2010
Kids.
[Friendly donkey. Saint German des Angles, France.]
What's wrong with feeling young and restless.
Taking 2 hour naps on someone else's front lawn
and not wanting to settle down until you
don't feel so wild anymore
or wanting to speak a different language for a while
because then maybe things would start to make a little more sense.
What's wrong with telling lies just to be nice--
"I love that sweater on you."
And learning that people are just people
all over--everywhere
and that they all expect nothing less
and want nothing more
than to be loved.
How about walking everywhere
because driving is so 2005
and then knowing that your feet are going to hurt after
all that walking.
What's wrong with never finding the one song
that says just what you're feeling
so writing your own, but never showing anyone
and maybe singing it to yourself
after everyone has gone to bed.
What's wrong with just feeling free:
Calling someone and hanging up
Throwing water balloons at a stranger
Driving a little too fast
Eating two pieces of cake.
Because, after all, aren't we all just kids?
15 November 2010
France, Adventure No. 34
INVALIDES, 21h00.
Dimanche, 17 Octobre.
A lot of men ride the trains at night.
It was the first time I had felt really alone, there in the station with my red overcoat buttoned up to the top and my shoulder bag mounted firmly on the bench beside me.
There was one who paced the gum-spotted platform, peering at me every so often through his unkempt facade with these sad eyes that belong only to those who know what it's like to perhaps sleep on a sidewalk or to eat someone's cast-off Egg McMuffin for breakfast. But his ratty beard and feral appearance were the least of my worries.
A young man, 26 or so, had already invited himself to take a seat beside me; an action that prompted me to grip my book tighter and pour over it more intently. But not because it was nighttime and I was alone, but because this particular fellow wreaked of wine-coolers--or anyway, that tell-tale odor of having been drinking steadily since 5. He leaned in too close and in his blurry French, asked me where I was going, where I was living, and, incidentally, "Est-ce que vous voulez dormir chez moi ce soir?" I politely declined and shoved him on his way.
Almost immediately, another, older, and on the verge of a drunken stupor, sat down in his place and promptly began to sing about liberty or something. I never really got a good look at him, but I do recall with perfect clarity the filthy tennis shoes he wore, which had obviously seen too many winters; their Nike symbol faded to a depressing brownish-blue. He kept up his song for a good 10 minutes and drank at intervals from an over-sized soda can--clearly the source of his musical courage.
As we boarded the 21h25, I found myself hunting for the most deserted seat to take, where no one might seek me out to ask about my life or my American accent. I suppose I also hoped to avoid further encounters involving invitations to sleepovers or unsolicited drunken serenades.
I sat down at the furthermost window seat and attempted to decipher some of the graffiti etched into the thick glass window that the winter air had made icy. Letting my mind toy with the idea that loneliness isn't necessarily a bad thing, and that sometimes it's just what a girl needs, I unbuttoned my coat, reopened my book, and read all the way home.
Dimanche, 17 Octobre.
A lot of men ride the trains at night.
It was the first time I had felt really alone, there in the station with my red overcoat buttoned up to the top and my shoulder bag mounted firmly on the bench beside me.
There was one who paced the gum-spotted platform, peering at me every so often through his unkempt facade with these sad eyes that belong only to those who know what it's like to perhaps sleep on a sidewalk or to eat someone's cast-off Egg McMuffin for breakfast. But his ratty beard and feral appearance were the least of my worries.
A young man, 26 or so, had already invited himself to take a seat beside me; an action that prompted me to grip my book tighter and pour over it more intently. But not because it was nighttime and I was alone, but because this particular fellow wreaked of wine-coolers--or anyway, that tell-tale odor of having been drinking steadily since 5. He leaned in too close and in his blurry French, asked me where I was going, where I was living, and, incidentally, "Est-ce que vous voulez dormir chez moi ce soir?" I politely declined and shoved him on his way.
Almost immediately, another, older, and on the verge of a drunken stupor, sat down in his place and promptly began to sing about liberty or something. I never really got a good look at him, but I do recall with perfect clarity the filthy tennis shoes he wore, which had obviously seen too many winters; their Nike symbol faded to a depressing brownish-blue. He kept up his song for a good 10 minutes and drank at intervals from an over-sized soda can--clearly the source of his musical courage.
As we boarded the 21h25, I found myself hunting for the most deserted seat to take, where no one might seek me out to ask about my life or my American accent. I suppose I also hoped to avoid further encounters involving invitations to sleepovers or unsolicited drunken serenades.
I sat down at the furthermost window seat and attempted to decipher some of the graffiti etched into the thick glass window that the winter air had made icy. Letting my mind toy with the idea that loneliness isn't necessarily a bad thing, and that sometimes it's just what a girl needs, I unbuttoned my coat, reopened my book, and read all the way home.
29 September 2010
France, Adventure No. 17
[Le Chesnay, France.]
You swear it's not the wine.
"It's just that I feel so alive
just now. This moment."
There's something about this place
that could make a girl cry
And can make you feel incurably studious
at 4 in the afternoon
When the campfire-y smells of
dinners being made
ignite in the air.
Then suddenly the street becomes
a hallowed place:
A church you come to light candles in,
as if small flames licking the dim, incensed air
are the only messages that God understands.
Leaves begin to fall in slow-motion
and you are amazed at the chill in the air
and the quick puffs of breath
that drift from your lips.
Because your heart has not felt warmer
since that one night all those years ago
when you discovered that you weren't infinite.
And that not being infinite
is kind of all right.
22 September 2010
France, Adventure No. 12
Well, France has thus far welcomed me with open arms! I have simply fallen in love with the architecture, the fashion, the food and the overall feeling of this beautiful country.
While Paris is probably one of my favorite places ever, Versailles (where I'm living) has its own charm and definitive vibe. From the extravagance of the Chateau de Versailles to the more organic feel of the Place du Marché at Notre-Dame, this city has something to offer every kind of tourist, or even temporary citizen.
My favorite part just may be the boulangeries and patisseries that stand at attention on nearly every street corner, tempting me with their delightful delicacies. Glistening tarte aux pommes, savory quiche lorraines and buttery croissants, to name just a few.
Every morning the lines are out the door as the locals hustle out laden with baguettes and delicate pastries wrapped in decorative tissue paper or in small cardboard boxes.
I guess all I'm saying is that if I come home with about 20 extra pounds on me...don't be surprised.
While Paris is probably one of my favorite places ever, Versailles (where I'm living) has its own charm and definitive vibe. From the extravagance of the Chateau de Versailles to the more organic feel of the Place du Marché at Notre-Dame, this city has something to offer every kind of tourist, or even temporary citizen.
My favorite part just may be the boulangeries and patisseries that stand at attention on nearly every street corner, tempting me with their delightful delicacies. Glistening tarte aux pommes, savory quiche lorraines and buttery croissants, to name just a few.
Every morning the lines are out the door as the locals hustle out laden with baguettes and delicate pastries wrapped in decorative tissue paper or in small cardboard boxes.
I guess all I'm saying is that if I come home with about 20 extra pounds on me...don't be surprised.
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